


Gifts

by actingwithportals



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: 5 times + 1 time trope, Character Study, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hollow uses it/its pronouns, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:09:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24658894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actingwithportals/pseuds/actingwithportals
Summary: Five times someone gave The Hollow Knight a gift, and one time they were able to give one in return.
Relationships: The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel & Hornet, The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel & Isma, The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel & The Knight, The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel & White Lady
Comments: 14
Kudos: 186





	Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the uncreative title; this was really just a spur-of-the-moment thing.
> 
> Not related to the We Are Wide Awake Now series.

A Pure Vessel didn’t want for gifts.

A Pure Vessel didn’t want for anything, because something without a mind or a will could not carry desires or hopes. The Pale King had told it that it was made of such purity, and that it was the _only_ Pure Vessel of thousands. That He _needed_ it to be pure.

It couldn’t disappoint Him.

But even though it did not want for these things, the White Lady had given it a gift anyways. She would always insist on dressing it for the day, wrapping it in various cloaks or shawls until she found one that fit her fancy for that particular time. But today had been different; today she did not simply dress it up like a doll and send it on its way. Instead she had turned away from it for a moment, delicately shifting through one of her fine sparkling jewelry boxes that she kept on her vanity dresser until she had found what it was that she sought and returned to it with a flourish. Careful so as not to poke into its carapace through the fabric, she pinned a crest of soft blues and ruby reds to the front of its cloak.

“A Hallownest seal,” she told it. “Something beautiful to befit our Pure Vessel.”

It did not respond to her. A Pure Vessel did not possess a voice with which to answer.

She straightened its cloak, brushing away any wrinkles or imperfections, and carefully set it down on the floor. “Off to your daily activities, then,” she told it, stepping away from its path to the door.

Without a moment’s hesitation, it made its way out of the room. It did not desire to run its claws against the new pin. A Pure Vessel did not desire or seek stimulation.

A Pure Vessel simply obeyed.

* * *

A Pure Vessel was proficient in every area that was required of it.

The King had said that it needed to be able to wield a nail masterfully, and that in order to do so it would need to be trained. It wasn’t yet very good with a nail, but it could not waver or show dejection. A Pure Vessel never got discouraged.

Kindly Isma, one of the Great Knights, was training it today. She was quick, clever, and utilized ranged attacks in her fighting, which were particularly difficult for it, since it had little experience thus far with anything beyond close combat. But it was told it needed to be proficient in all areas – the King Himself had ordered such – so it was imperative Isma teach it her own fighting style. It could not give in; it could not fail.

A Pure Vessel did not fail.

It took longer than it should have – nearly to the end of the day – but it eventually managed to disarm her, taking her off guard with a well-placed soul attack that she had poorly judged the trajectory of, and now it held the point of its nail just under the tip of her chin, easily crossing over to her in her stumbling. Isma wasn’t the tallest knight but she still towered over it, and though it could barely reach her throat from its current position of standing flat-footed before her, it held firm all the same.

Isma paused, appearing almost in shock, before letting out a quick breath and tilting her mask in an expression of . . . what? Satisfaction? Pride?

No. A Pure Vessel was just a tool to be utilized; bugs could not feel pride over a tool’s success.

“Well done,” she told it, stepping back and raising her arms in surrender. It lowered its nail and took a step back as well, standing now at attention.

“You learn swiftly, young Vessel,” she said. “You might even be ready to train with Ze’mer someday soon.”

Mysterious Ze’mer had never been bested in combat. It did not think about how that would be daunting; worrying wasn’t a thing a Pure Vessel did.

Isma picked her nail off of the floor of the training grounds where it had fallen, sheathed it against her back, and walked up to it again. “Your hard work came to fruition today,” she said, placing a hand on the top of its mask and rubbing gently in forward and back motions. “Ogrim will be ecstatic to hear of your triumph, I’m sure.”

She removed her hand and turned to leave, signaling that the training had ended.

It did not wish for her to come back and rub its mask again.

A Pure Vessel had no such desires.

* * *

A Pure Vessel did not have need for a name.

The Pale King had said this time and again, yet the little spiderling that called herself its sister never listened to His words. And when she came to visit the White Palace with her mother for yet another meeting between the Pale King and His Dreamers, she spent every available moment within its care reminding it of the name she had assigned it.

“You need a new cloak, Hollow,” she told it, tugging on the pale white fabric with apparent dissatisfaction. “White’s boring and too bright! You should wear red!”

It did not respond to her, as it never did. Somehow, this never seemed to deter her antics.

“Like this,” she said, pulling it along by the hem of its cloak to the dresser by her bed, where she rummaged through the drawers until she found whatever item she had desired. “See, Hollow! I made it for you!”

She held out a large clump of deep red fabric, hastily woven and clearly the product of a beginner, but solid all the same and almost larger than herself. Clearly intending for it to take the item (and its sister barely keeping herself upright under its weight), it obediently relieved her of the burden and held it out before it, as if to inspect.

A Pure Vessel did not have a mind with which to consider inspections. Its sister had been told this already.

“It’s a bit small for you, probably,” its sister said, hesitant. “I tried to size it for something that would fit Mama, but it’s only my third weaving, so I’m still learning. But Hollow, look! I was able to weave pieces of a story into it!”

Tugging on its arm, its sister pulled it down so that it was kneeling on the floor in front of her, so that she could more efficiently show it whatever it was she was talking about. It knew that the Weavers could weave stories into their silks, but it had not been taught how to read them. It had not been taught how to read anything. What need did a tool have for reading?

“See, it starts here,” she explained, pointing to a particular point in the cloth. “It’s about the brave and mysterious Hollow Knight, who’s on a mission to save the world from monsters of the sky. Isn’t it cool?!”

It did not respond to her. It could not. A Pure Vessel did not have a mind to appreciate stories, no matter who it was that told them.

Its sister sighed, lowering the cloak a little. “I know, you’re not allowed to say anything. But if you like it you can give just a little nod. No one would have to know; I won’t tell!”

It did not nod; a Pure Vessel didn’t hold opinions to decide if it liked things or not.

She tilted her mask, looking up at it with eyes that gleamed far too much, far too tearfully. “Please, Hollow. I worked really hard on it. I made it just for you.”

It still did not nod, but it gently took the cloak from her claws and carefully wrapped it around its shoulders. It was much too small indeed, but it could manage at least to clip it secure with the Hallownest seal it used for all of its other cloaks.

The little spiderling – its little sister that it could not properly thank (a Pure Vessel didn’t acknowledge gratitude) beamed up at it with a look of unquestionable elation. “I knew you’d love it!” she exclaimed. “And see, it looks pretty! You should definitely wear red more!”

It did not agree with her. A Pure Vessel didn’t hold opinions.

But it wore the cloak for her to see and be proud of until she left the White Palace to return home with her mother the next day.

A Pure Vessel did not disappoint those of greater importance than itself.

* * *

A Pure Vessel did not have the ability to feel.

The rain of the City of Tears was always a sight to behold, and a tactility to enjoy, but only for mindful creatures. A Pure Vessel cared not for beautiful scenery or soothing rain.

Nor did it care for kind gestures or tokens of affection.

The Pale King was to speak to His people this day, and as His blessed Hollow Knight, it was required and expected to accompany Him, like a Shadow to the Light. The residents of the City did not overwhelm or harass their King, for they all loved Him and held Him with the highest respect that an honorable Higher Being would demand.

But that did not stop bugs from approaching _it_.

Residents of Hallownest tended to have one of two reactions to it. Either they shrank away in fear and intimidation at the size of its horns and impressiveness of its stature, or they gawked in something like awe, taken by its appearance as if it were also something beautiful to behold, like the City around them.

It didn’t question this; a Pure Vessel questioned nothing.

This wasn’t the first time a bug had approached it, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. Many had drawn themselves towards it in hopes of catching its eye or drawing its attention, like it hadn’t already been made evident numerous times that it had no mind to give them whatever satisfaction they desired.

Such details did not often deter them.

So when a finely dressed noble approached it, bowing lightly and extending their hand towards it with a flower in their grasp, it was not immediately confounded by the action.

A Pure Vessel was never confounded, after all. A Pure Vessel had no thoughts to confuse.

“A gift for you,” they said, and though their words wobbled as if with nerves or embarrassment, and their hand shook as they extended it forwards, they did not falter in their approach all the same. “For the savior of Hallownest.”

It took the flower amicably, holding it carefully with one hand while the other still gripped its nail before it. The request was clear; it would be remiss to not take the gift offered, however misplaced the request seemed to be.

A Pure Vessel did not argue; a Pure Vessel only obeyed.

The noble raised their hand to the side of their face and turned slightly, as if too shy to meet its eyes. “Though we are grateful for your sacrifice, your visits here will be missed by many in the City. It will be a sad day when the Hollow Knight no longer graces us with its presence.”

It did not respond or acknowledge the words, merely holding their gaze until an appropriate amount of time had passed and it could turn to continue following after its King without concern of inflicting offense. The King waited for it not far ahead, having turned back to look at what had halted its march. He did not comment on the gift, not with words at least. Whatever He would have to say on the matter would not be understood by a Pure Vessel.

Its King simply stared at the flower, then at it, shook His head and sighed in such a quiet manner that if it had not been so accustomed to the sound it might not have noticed, and turned to continue forward.

It followed obediently after Him, but it held the flower delicately against its chest.

It shouldn’t allow damage to come to a gift. No matter how little the gesture could mean to it, such things should never be discarded.

A Pure Vessel did not damage things that were valuable.

* * *

A Pure Vessel had no mind to think. No will to break. No voice to cry.

A Pure Vessel was everything Hallownest needed; everything required to save the eternal kingdom and hold back the Infection.

Everything the Pale King had wanted it to be.

A Pure Vessel _wouldn’t fail Him._

But it did, and now all of Hallownest suffered in return.

It should have been left to pay for its failure, to take the full force of the ancient God’s rage on its own, without others having to endure the plague as well. For it alone was responsible for having given the bugs of Hallownest hope and then ripping it away along with the very lives it was supposed to protect. Because of its faultiness, Hallownest was torn apart; such failings should make it unforgiveable, detestable, _damnable_.

Death would be too kind, and salvation couldn’t even be considered.

But a Ghost long hidden in the dark, wearing that tiny mask that should have been _forgotten_ , should have been dismissed for nothing more than refuse and regret, had clawed its way up from the depths and into the light. It had found it. Freed it.

Saved it.

A Pure Vessel had no use for gifts, had no capabilities for feeling gratitude or love in response to them. But it wasn’t pure – had never been pure – and all its life others had given it gifts.

Maybe they had all seen something in it that the King had not, that _it_ had not.

Maybe now, it should begin to look.

* * *

The Old Light was gone, and no longer was it bound by any duties to suppress Her.

Its sibling, that little Ghost, had released it from that prison which held it for countless years. Its sister, who had grown up into something remarkable beyond what it could have ever predicted, had cared for it until it began to return to something resembling healthy. Neither would leave its side for long; neither dared let it be alone again.

It was grateful for that.

They told it that it could have a name now, if it so chose. They told it that it could be a person too, that it could think of itself as someone with a mind and a will and a full life ahead of it, filled with choices and paths beyond whatever fate had been expected of it to follow for so long. They told it that it could feel and be happy and sad and angry and tired and overwhelmed and content and pleased. It could be whatever it desired, and it could desire _so much_.

Whatever it wanted; it was allowed to choose.

Thinking back, there had been many things it wanted.

Though it failed in lacking a mind and a will, it did not fail in its silence, but that did not deter its sister or sibling from teaching it to communicate. Its sibling was already proficient at this, having long-since learned to speak through signs and written words. And when the time came that it learned to construct its own, there was only one thing it had wanted to say above everything else.

A gift it desired so fiercely to give, in return for all the gifts that had been given to it.

Its hand always shook now; even weeks after gaining its freedom and recovering from the Light the tremors that settled into its void had not fully subsided from its three remaining limbs. But in spite how much it shook, how unstable it felt, with as slow and intentional movements as it could coax its hand into performing, it carefully reached towards its face to begin to form the words it had wanted to say.

Two pairs of eyes tracked its movements, waiting patiently for it to try its first message.

Tips of its claws touched the bottom point of its mask, carefully lowering down in a forward motion before its chest. The motion repeated once, twice, a third time.

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

There was more it wanted to say, so much more it wanted to give. But for now that was all it could provide; this one single gift of gratitude for the life they had granted it.

With all of its will, it promised to give as much as it could in the days, weeks, years to come. For its siblings, it would give all.

As they had done first.

A Pure Vessel did not want for gifts, nor did it desire to give them in return.

But it did; it _wasn’t_ pure. And that never before felt so much like finally coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes:
> 
> 1 This was originally inspired by the idea of the bugs of Hallownest all being really enamored with Hollow, because gosh they are so dang pretty, and of course so many would flock to them to give them gifts of flowers or other tokens of affection  
> 2 The WonWan discord is to thank for this  
> 3 The sign used here is "thank you" in ASL (in case it wasn't clear) and you perform this sign by touching the tips of your fingers of your dominant hand to the edge of your chin, and extend your palm out and downwards in front of your chest (fingers now away from your body). This can be done with both hands and multiple times for emphasis


End file.
